


And How's Your Monday Going?

by CelioCian



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 21:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11021865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelioCian/pseuds/CelioCian
Summary: A normal day in the life of Baxter Hart. Well, mostly normal. It wasn't a particularly good day. A call from the ex, feeling like he's in a horror movie... And all before he even gets to work. At least it wasn't bound to get worse, right? ...Right?





	And How's Your Monday Going?

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first part of a longer story, but I felt it could be nice as a one-off little thing. I may continue with the rest of it, I may not, but it feels rewarding at least getting this out. Enjoy!

_You know, I’m not a fan of people. They can be a real bunch of bastards. Going around killing, stealing, breaking hearts. I know what you’re thinking - one of these things is not like the other. But it is just as serious. When a heart shatters, that’s all a person can think about for at least a solid week. How you want the one that did it to suffer as much as you, how you want them completely obliterated from the face of the planet…_  

_Breakups are hard. Emotions are painful. And people strive to destroy your emotions, every last ounce of humanity a person may have. And yet, it is still a human pastime. Why? We still don’t know. Humans are cruel beings. And I want the heart of the man that did it-_

Well. Ain’t that a load of shit. Sure, I agree with the people info, but goddamn, quit listening to the classical music while you type. You’re gonna die of a busted heart from somebody that didn’t even exist. Creepy freak.

I sat up from lounging across my couch, or at least tried my hardest to. Thing was sinking bad, but what can you do? Being a bachelor isn’t a life of glitz and gold. And glitter. I think glitter should be in that sentence too. It’s sparkly and all that jazz. At least I have time to read, if you call that depressing dreck a piece of literature. Either way, I snapped the book shut and tossed it halfway across the room, barely missing the cat.

Sorry, Sinbad. But you shouldn't be in the center of the room. Quit licking your ass while you’re at it.

I hopped up and brought my arms into the air, bending my back backwards in a lackluster attempt to remove the kinks from my spinal column. Nearly freaking snapped my spine at the sudden damn car horn, though. Mofos need to learn to drive in this damned city, don’t want a Buick driving through the front wall.

I tossed my old shirt that I slept in across the room and made a lazy beeline towards my bedroom, in other words, my closet. Not much was bound to be in there, though. Probably needed to do laundry - shit kept popping up all the damn time. The very fact that I had any work-acceptable dress shirts was in and of itself a miracle gracing the face of the planet.

To be honest, dress shirts and khakis with ties are some of the plainest shit known to man. Seriously, at least let us wear jeans or something, goddamn. And the ties, God, the ties, those freaking fashionable nooses. And I have to do this all in the god-forsaken morning, you fucking asshole boss.

Okay, maybe he’s _not_ too big an asshole, but still. He makes us get up in the morning. But he did give me that raise… And the whole living situation thing… But still! Morning!

Okay, scratch that. I just complain about a lot of shit. Mornings included. Goddamn, do I hate mornings.

After a few select curses, I eventually find those ugly ass pants and pull them on, moaning and groaning the entire time that I do. It’s cold in the room, which means these nuthuggers are just as freakin' cold. Then again, it’s New York in late November. What else is to be expected? I guess this means I need to invest in a better trenchcoat for the the winter season. Or a parka. Just something warmer than the piece of cloth I have now.

I feel kinda guilty turning the heat on in the apartment. It’s technically not mine, after all. Then whose is it, you ask? My boss’s. Soooooo… Yeah. Not an asshole. Needed a place to stay post-divorce and he offered up his apartment for when he had late nights. Nice and fully furnished at least, but it’s creepy sleeping in my boss’s bed. Hence the couch.

After a whirlwind of clothes and tripping over random shit, I finally began my trek to work. Pros of being in this apartment: close to work. Cons: close to work. Well, could be worse. Like I said, my boss is nice and my coworkers are the same for the most part. I’m head of IT so I have to deal with stupidity a lot, but most everyone is pretty competent. Mostly.

Grabbing my phone before heading out probably would’ve been a mistake if not for the fact that I desperately needed it. Apparently, some freaking person decided to call and leave a voicemail! Who the fuck does that anymore? Does anyone even remember their voicemail password besides me? I think not!

Popping in the quadruple digit code brought me to the box itself. “You have one new message from Neil.” Neil? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. If there was anyone’s voice I didn’t want to hear, it was Neil’s. He was probably still aiming to take all my money and my video games and my cat and by god, I was not going to let that happen.

Manning up the best I could, I pressed the button to listen to the message. Maybe he decided to be civil. “Hey, Baxter, I need to talk to you. Just some stuff here that I figured you might like that I think you left by accident. A few books, a picture or two. Your rings are still here, too. Maybe we could meet up for coffee at that place you like and talk about it.”

He was quiet for a moment, probably trying to think of some way to lure me back to him. “Anyway, um, I hope you’re doing well. The flat’s pretty quiet without you and Sinbad.” He laughed softly, in that way that made me melt when I was still naive. “I still love you. If you ever want t0 think about getting back together, I’m here-”

I hung up and quickly deleted the message, giving myself a moment to catch my breath. There was no way in hell that I would be going back to that ass, not after everything he did to me these past three years. I was done with him. I swallowed down what little ounce of a panic attack that was trying to creep its way in and left the apartment.

Having been raised New York, hiking through snow is an easy yet still interesting thing to do. Boots are your friend and you should always hunch forwards to move your center of gravity. Make sure to make a pissed off face, too, to get everyone out of your way. It scares people and makes them more intimated. I’ve since mastered this fine art of resting bitch face-ery, especially today after that fucking moment dealing with fuck his face Neil. At least, I thought I had mastered it, but the guy I bumped into, whoo boy. He really took the cake.

Imagine as pretty a face a man can have - full pouty lips, long eyelashes, dark blue eyes that nearly fucking pierced into your soul… And the most annoyed scowl I had ever seen in my life. Like, parts of the guy’s face looked mid twenties, others looked pushing on thirty. He stood in front of my office building, tip tap typing away on his cell phone like a goddamn teenage girl and scaring people off with the RBF that only the gods could have granted. Bet he was a prick to talk to.

I made very sure to whistle the _Kill Bill_ whistle as I walked into the building. By god, I was going to make Mr. Shit Face aware of his own existence to everyone around him. Only, I guess I didn’t expect him to follow after me inside. Was he gonna kill me? Shit, maybe the whistle really was a bad idea. If I get murdered, I’m gonna be pissed.

I resisted the urge to spin a few times through the revolving doors before being met with the way too fancy lobby. This was supposed to be a charity, right? Especially those fancy-ass elevators which I made a bee-line for, immediately forgetting the whistle… Only for it to be slammed shut in front of me. Stairs it is, but hey, maybe the excruciating pain in my legs will null out the excruciating pain in my heart.

I turned the corner around the elevator and found the rarely used stairs door. I mean, seriously people. Why do stairwells all look the same? All concrete and bland and prison-slash-highschool looking. I scowled to myself and began making my way up, trying desperately to not trip while walking up the stairs.

Okay, he was following me to and up the stairs. Maybe I should’ve taken the elevator today, after all. Still not too skippy of this guy stalking after me as if he was going to kill me. Both of us up two floors, three floors, four floors. What the fuck? The hell is this guy trying to do? I really wasn’t entertained with the idea of the last person’s voice I had listened to being Neil’s.

I scrambled through the door that led to my floor and this FUCK was still following me! Goddammit, time to man up twice in one day! I spun around to him as he walked through and stared him down (awkwardly, yet literally… he was a couple inches shorter than me). “H-Hey! You got a bone to pick with me or something?”

He blinked and tilted his head to the side an inch, causing a dark lock of curly hair to fall. Wait, don’t tell me I jumped to conclusions. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. “Pardon?”

Wait, what? Was he seriously not going after me? Did I _really_ just jump to conclusions? Maybe this divorce was getting to me head… Goddammit, was that a blush coming to my cheeks and I am not a smart man. “You were following me! What do you want from me?!”

He kept on with the owl-eyed stare before slowly shaking his head, his lips curling into a tiny smile. Goddammit, I did jump to conclusions. Fuck me sideways-

Aaaaaaand he’s gone crazy. Interrupting me from my mental scolding was him suddenly bursting out into this weird fit of laughter. And by fit, I mean full on, eyes closed and watering, hand over mouth, practically at a right angle he’s hunched over so much fit. Goddammit, I was not funny. And that was not funny.

Not that I could actually get around to protesting because the moment I came out of my shocked stupor, his laughter was winding down. Stupid little grin still plastered to his stupid little face, he reached up and pat my shoulder. “Thanks for that. I really needed it after what I went through this morning.” And with that, he walked off! That stupid little prick just disappeared into the distance, off to whatever department he worked for!

Wait. What department _did_ he work for? Now that I think about it, I don’t think i had ever seen him around before. And this may be a big company, but I usually recognize people that work here. But nope, this guy was a brand spanking new hire. Obviously not IT, I didn’t have to deal with the interview process.

Whatever, I’d probably be getting an email begging me to fix his new computer. “Help me!” he’d say. “I’m stupid with computers!” Ahhh, aren’t they all? And that, ladies and gents is why I have job security.

I made damn sure to avoid every desk I could see, trying my hardest to not be spotted for some sort of tech help. It was like a weird game of hide and seek. Except being caught would lead to you being miserable for the next hour. Yay work.

Long story short, I made it past the hoards of sheeple to my office and plopped right down in my chair, turning on my computer in hopes of a lack of emails. Apparently, the boss man decided to be nice to everyone because they was only one in the inbox and the subject was “New Hire.” Yay, home team! I get to figure out who bug face is!

I leaned forward into my hand with my elbow on the desk (probably like you are right now) and skimmed through. Blah blah blah, recent hire, blah blah blah, be nice, blah blah blah, oh look, name! Apparently this guy was named “Isidore Elijay.” That was certainly a hell of a name.

Now to check and see where he was working. I don’t remember anyone saying they were looking for new hires recently, maybe he was just an intern. But then again, he looked too old to be one. God, come on, email, enough with this fluff!

Wait.

Does that say what I think it says?

“Isidore has been hired as my new personal assistant. Hence, I certainly expect you to give him the utmost respect.”

Awwww, shit.


End file.
